


Ruby Face Paint

by meiliariotz



Series: Bloody Candies [2]
Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Creepypasta, Dark, Halloween, Multi, Psychological Torture, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27309568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meiliariotz/pseuds/meiliariotz
Summary: Laughing Jack contemplates how you would look painted up just like him.
Relationships: Laughing Jack/Reader
Series: Bloody Candies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967443
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Ruby Face Paint

Laughing Jack’s face paint never came off. It made sense. You weren’t sure what the clown was, but he definitely wasn’t human, so he could probably look however he wanted to look. 

Sometimes you wondered if your situation would be better or worse if Jack was human. On one hand, you would probably have a better chance of escape. Humans could be dangerous, but at the end of the day they were just that; human. They could be fought and they could be injured. 

On the other hand, you weren’t sure if you wanted to live in a world where a fellow human could commit such heinous acts. It was easier to see Jack as something without humanity or morals. It was easier to see him as a monster, and the ever present face paint helped you maintain that belief, most of the time.

“What’s on your mind, love?” A raspy voice in your ear drew you out of your thoughts. 

The pair of striped arms wrapped around your waist pulled you closer to the clown’s body. The two of you sat in the center of the carnival’s largest circus tent, in a nest of sorts. It was full of pillows, various fleece-like materials, and torn clothing.

You tried not to think of who previously wore those clothes. Instead you focused on appreciating the fact that it was probably the most comfortable place in the whole carnival, though that wasn’t saying much. 

“It’s nothing…” you muttered, pressing your face into one of the pillows that rested on top of the nest, trying not to look him in the eye. 

“You’re lying to me,” Jack said, chuckling maliciously, “You know I can always tell when you’re lying to me, dear.”

His grip on you tightened and you winced. You felt his sharp nails digging into your skin, and after a moment you decided to just tell him the truth. It wasn’t worth another night of clawing and biting. 

“You’re facepaint, it’s a part of you, right?” You asked, still refusing to look at him. 

There was a short pause before Jack started to chuckle, which quickly grew into a hoarse laughing fit. 

“Of course it is!” He said between fits of manic laughter. You weren’t sure what was so funny about your question. Maybe Jack just found everything you did amusing. You weren’t complaining. The longer he found entertainment in you, the longer you stayed alive. 

“Well, you can’t blame me for asking. Humans don’t really run around in facepaint, unless it’s Halloween or something,” you muttered. At the mention of Halloween, Jack’s laughter once again rang out. It was nearly deafening

“Oh, that holiday where little children dress up in disguises and beg for treats at the doors of strangers,” he cackled. You made a sound of amusement in response. Something about the clinical way Jack described the holiday was funny to you. 

“Yes, I guess you would enjoy it,” you said.

“Well of course! It makes for the perfect hunting grounds…” he said, still laughing maniacally.

Before you could catch yourself, you scoffed. It was such a stereotypical response that you couldn’t help yourself. You quickly began stammering, trying to distract him from your less than polite response.

“Uh, I would have figured you liked it because of the outfits. I mean, clowns are a popular costume,” you said. Jack paused, as if deep in thought. It was probably only a few moments, but it felt like an eternity. You held your breath as you waited for his response. 

“I suppose you’re right. I do have a soft spot for the brats that try to emulate my kind,” he finally said.

You weren’t willing to dwell on the implications of what the clown meant when he referred to his ‘kind.’ Several minutes passed, seeming to signal the end of the bizarre conversation. You felt tired, and you weighed the dangers of letting yourself fall asleep here. Just as you decided the benefit was worth the risk and let your eyes begin to drift shut, a clawed hand grasped your face. 

Jack roughly turned you to face him. He stared at you and you stared back, now completely awake and on high alert. His grip on your face was firm, but not painful. His other hand held onto your lower back. He was holding you so that his claws would dig into your skin if you tried to shift away. 

“I wonder how you would look painted up just like me,” He said, releasing his hold on your face, ghosting his fingertips across your cheeks. With a sharp nail he traced the pattern of his own black lips around yours.

“You would be irresistible,” Jack said, his smile growing impossibly wide as he visualized your face all done up in black and white. But why stop at the face? How would you look in a clown outfit of your very own? 

His other hand moved from your back to your shoulder, where he imagined feathery decals much like his own. From there he went to your arms, which would look oh so perfect in some striped sleeves. He seemed to spend an eternity feeling you up before he finally cupped your face in both hands, forcing you to look at him once again.

You hated yourself for it, but you couldn’t help but blush under such relentless scrutiny. The clown had practically appraised every part of your body. 

“Oh, look how red you are darling,” Jack teased, worsening your embarrassment. Suddenly his eyes went wide, an idea clearly brewing in his twisted mind. 

“Red… hm, now there’s an idea,” he said. 

You looked up at him curiously, unwilling to speak up. The cryptic way he spoke filled you with dread. 

“Maybe,” he continued, “I could paint you up with blood, make you a perfect, ruby colored copy of myself.”

Jack chuckled sinisterly as he saw the horror in your expression. It only motivated him to continue. 

“I could be your own blood,” he said, a hand moving to grip your thigh, the nails digging into the soft flesh just deep enough to draw a few drops of blood. You winced and gritted your teeth. 

“Or, maybe I could take you out hunting with me to get some. Maybe I could even take you out on Halloween,” he continued. You hadn’t realized how close the two of you had gotten. He was now close enough to whisper right in your ear, and you knew better than to pull away. 

“We could slaughter those brats as they go door to door begging for sweets and hang their bodies from trees once we’re done with them, adding our own personal touch to the decor,” he said. 

You didn’t want to listen, but you had no choice. Not only could you physically not move away, but something in Jack’s tone gave his grotesque monologue an alluring aura. He sounded deadly serious, his voice lacking the mean spirited laughter it usually carried. You felt like you had to cling onto every macabre word that voice spoke, no matter how horrified and disgusted it made you feel. 

“I’d have both of us slick with blood by the end of the night, and then I could bring you back here,” Jack said, motioning to the tent around them before pulling you flush to his body and continuing. 

“And finally, I could lick every inch of your warm, crimson body clean, and you would love every minute of it. It would be a Halloween to remember.”

His voice dipped low in a way that made your stomach drop. It was almost as if he was growling those final words, made all the more obvious to you by how closely your were being held against the clown. Your face was practically buried in the ruffled ebony collar of his costume. That was for the best. Your face was probably even redder than it was before.

While you had remained thoroughly disgusted for the majority of Laughing Jack’s monologue, that final line awakened something within you that your brain outright rejected. Shame washed over you and you tried to convince yourself that anything you may have felt was just due to some kind of mind game the clown was playing with you. 

“Have I rendered you speechless dear?” Jack asked, his voice once again taking on a teasing tone. 

“I suppose so,” you said, your voice muffled by the ruffled collar. You breathed a sigh of relief as the hypnotic state you had been put under ebbed. 

You felt Jack shift slightly, and were pleasantly surprised when he didn’t reach out to grope at another part of your body. Instead you felt him begin to run his fingers through your hair, his nails ghosting over your scalp and lulling you into a blissful state. You tried to fight it at first, unwilling to trust the clown to make you feel anything remotely pleasurable. What if it was a trap? 

“You look exhausted,” Jack said, “Why don’t you close your eyes?”

He was right. You were exhausted, but you didn’t fall asleep. Jack had built this false sense of security like this again and again, and you knew that he was trying to break you, but tonight you resisted. You couldn’t pull away, or fight, or escape, so you resisted in the only way you could. You stayed awake

You thought of all the horrific things Jack had just said to you, using his twisted idea of the perfect Halloween to plague your mind with anxiety and fear that prevented you from falling asleep. It was self destructive, and it was honestly a very minuscule way of fighting back, but it was all you had. 


End file.
